


the drowning deep

by taizi



Series: saltwater hearts [2]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Parents, Families of Choice, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: In as much time as it takes him to get the sun-and-sea-starched canvas bag open, the seal sheds its soft skin.When Woody looks up, it’s to find his best friend sitting on the bench seat, bare chest and shoulders dusky in the semi-dark, dark curls dripping. The skin is draped over his lap like a precious blanket.Mike’s round eyes are impish, grin wide and toothy. He says, “I missed you somuch!”





	the drowning deep

Woody loves outer space.

There are glow-in-the-dark stars in his tiny bedroom in the apartment above his uncle’s store. His favorite hoodie is galaxy-print. He stays up late on calm, clear nights, when the harbor mirrors the sky and the stars are absolutely endless.

When he thinks of the future, the view outside his window on those nights is the first thing that comes to mind.

* * *

“Have you made your decision yet?” his mother says briskly. The drive back to the airport always feels days long, for all that it’s less than an hour. Woody _hates_ these visits. “College is just around the corner now.”

“I’m still thinking,” Woody replies at length, staring out his window. In the driver’s seat, his father scoffs.

Ignore them, he thinks. Just a little longer. I’m almost home.

“I’ve been thinking it might be time for you to move back,” his mother continues, obviously going somewhere specific with this conversation. Woody stiffens. “I’m sure your uncle would agree. Good schooling is important.”

“You sent me away because I did badly in your stupid school,” Woody says incredulously. “I flunked out, remember? Why would you make me move back just to—”

“Watch your tone,” is all his father interrupts to say.

“Turtle Cove’s school is fine,” Woody continues. His heart is racing. “I don’t want to move back.”

“I thought you wanted to be a scientist.” His mother glances at him from the vanity mirror, expression mildly disapproving. “You think average grades at a shoddy local school on some nameless little island will get you into an Ivy League college? Think again, honey. To _get_ ahead, you have to _be_ ahead.”

They can’t _do_ anything. They signed legal custody of him over to Uncle Rupert years ago. Aside from a few days mandatory visitation, Woody’s parents have nothing to do with him anymore, and they certainly can’t go over his head to make decisions this big without his input and his uncle’s blessing.

But even clinging to those facts with both hands and turning them over and over in his mind for the rest of the car ride, Woody can’t relax until they pull up in front of the airport.

“Bye,” he says, grabbing his duffel bag and all but falling out the door. “Can’t wait to do this again.”

 _ **boarding in a few minutes,**_ he texts his uncle.

 _ **see you soon,**_ he texts Mike.

It’s a red-eye flight back to the coast, and Woody scoots over to the window seat when he realizes he’ll have the row to himself. He pushes the visor up, and rests his forehead beside the little glass pane, and counts the stars through unsubstantial wisps of cloud until the impossible number lulls him to sleep.

* * *

By the time the ferry finally pushes up against the island pier, Woody has finished detailing the finer points of the mandatory visitation. He leaves some stuff out, but his uncle can always tell when there’s more to the story, and the man’s face is stormy as they walk down the ramp onto the dock.

“Loathe as I am to agree with anything those people say,” he mutters reluctantly, “they’re right about one thing. It’s never too early to start thinkin’ about your future.”

“I know,” Woody insists, “and I am. Really.”

His uncle eyes him sidelong and finally grins, a reluctantly amused number that makes Woody grin right back. “Well, you know what you want at least,” he says with gruff fondness. “That’s more than most kids your age can say.”

Except maybe that’s not exactly the case anymore—Woody has always loved outer space, but he loves his little town, too, and he’s beginning to think he doesn’t want anything that will take him away from this place.

A bark draws Woody’s eyes to the rocky shore, and he almost trips over his own feet at the sight of the speckled seal blinking dolefully at him from the cobblestones. It perks up the moment it has his attention, and rolls over to expose its soft belly, barking again happily.

“Um,” Woody says quickly, “can I borrow the cruiser tonight?”

It’s too much to hope his uncle hasn’t seen it. The seal is putting on a bit of a show. But there are a handful of the creatures that pop up every now and then, to the delight of the residents and fishermen who catch a glimpse of them. The tiny herd is a familiar and well-protected part of Turtle Cove. Even Uncle Rupert softens when he sees it. 

“Go ahead,” he says knowingly. “I’ll save you some dinner.”

Woody catches the keys his uncle tosses him and runs down the boardwalk to the marina, where a city of boats are moored. He doesn’t have a license yet, but he’s known how to helm his uncle’s Downeast since about two weeks after he came to live here.

There’s a canvas bag hidden in the cabin, under the bench seat, and Woody roots it out and slings the straps over his shoulder. When he’s gone far enough that Turtle Cove is nothing but a handful of lights peeking through the rich orange sunset, Woody kills the engine and lets the cruiser drift, rocking gently on the water.

He steps out of the cabin, into the glow of the masthead light, scanning the cresting surface of the ocean eagerly. It’s only a handful of minutes before a sharp bark has him hurrying around to the stern; leaning down over the edge to fit his hands around the slippery hide of a squirmy seal and lift it up into the boat.

“This is some welcome committee,” he says, setting it on the bench seat. “Can you believe my city pals wanted to call ahead and make plans?”

It noses eagerly at the bag. Woody grins, and untangles the string holding it closed.

In as much time as it takes him to get the sun-and-sea-starched canvas bag open, the seal sheds its soft skin.

When Woody looks up, it’s to find his best friend sitting on the bench seat, bare chest and shoulders dusky in the semi-dark, dark curls dripping. The skin is draped over his lap like a precious blanket.

His round eyes are impish, grin wide and toothy. He says, “I missed you so _much!_ ”

Woody’s heart skips a beat or two as he hands over a stack of the clothes they keep stowed away for occasions just like this. He looks away as Mike gets dressed.

“Here,” his friend says from behind him, nudging his arm. “Will you put this away?”

He takes the seal hide without turning around, always stunned speechless when he’s allowed to hold it. Mike passes it around to his siblings and his friends without batting an eye, but from the sharp way Don and Karai and April follow it with their eyes, Woody knows how special it is to be trusted like this.

He folds it carefully, and stows it in the nondescript, plain-colored sack, and returns to the cabin to tuck it safely in its hiding spot under the seat. Knowing, in the back of his mind, that he would sooner sink the whole cruiser than let someone get their hands on that bag.

Mike plows into him from behind a heartbeat later, wrapping octopus arms around his middle. “Get this thing moving already,” he says cheerfully. “I gotta show you something!”

“Aye, aye, skipper,” Woody says with a playful salute, and brings the engine to life again. The sidelights glow white and green on the water, and Mikey remains a warm weight against his back, his chin pillowed neatly on Woody’s shoulder.

His best friend is very mysterious; a magical creature with dark eyes that sometimes shift into summer sky blue. But his brown skin is freckled and soft, and his heart pounds in the same way that Woody’s does when they get into trouble, and his breath hitches right before he laughs. He’s the most human person Woody knows.

Mike and his twin are something of a local legend, even if they’re not entirely aware of it themselves. Apparently _everyone_ remembers the day Mr. Hamato first brought them into town. He found them on the beach when they were barely more than toddlers, and took them in when their biological family couldn’t be tracked down.

The Hamato estate, a remote plot of several private acres on the far side of the island, used to sit empty for most of the year. Awhile ago, when Leo and Raph were eleven and ten respectively and Don and Mike were about eight, the family turned it from a vacation house into a permanent residence and they’ve lived on the island ever since.

They’re a sociable group, friendly and neighborly when they come to town, but their pretty home is like a fortress. Very, very few people have ever been inside.

Woody has dinner there every other night.

“Oh, we’re here,” Mike says suddenly, tugging on his sleeve. “Hurry, hurry. It’s almost time!”

They beach the boat at a familiar sandbar, roll up the legs of their pants (and in Woody’s case, abandon his shoes) and then wade to the shore. The secluded cove up ahead is one they frequent together with Mike’s siblings in the daytime, with towering rock formations that loom in the low tide.

It’s a little eerie in the swiftly falling twilight.

As if reading his mind, Mike reaches back to take his hand.

“Trust me,” he says, as if there’s any doubt.

* * *

They’re sitting side by side in a little sea cave. The sand is cool under Woody’s feet, and the surf lips up to the tips of his toes. Mikey’s fingers overlap his by a few inches where their hands are pillowed in the coarse beach.

There are a million stars in the sky, reflected on the ocean, clear and countless and beautiful. It’s like every night he loves to watch from his bedroom window, a whole universe spread out endlessly in front him. He thinks he’s close enough to touch it, if he only tried.

“I found this spot two nights ago while I was swimming with sis,” Mike whispers, eyes flashing with unearthly color in the dark, “and I thought of you.”

It’s more than anyone’s done for him before. His parents were late to pick him up from the airport at the beginning of the weekend, as if Woody was only an afterthought. Uncle Rupert loves him, but he isn’t a demonstrative person—Woody knows it’ll be his favorite dinner waiting for him tonight, and he’ll get to sleep in tomorrow morning instead of waking with the sun to open the store, because as much as his uncle leaves unsaid, he’s happy his nephew is home.

But _this._

 _This_ is a special, just-because kindness.

This is Mikey waiting for him by the pier for who knows how long, craning to catch a glimpse of the ferry.

Finding something wonderful and thinking of Woody, and making sure he gets to see it, too.

Sitting so close to him that their knees and shoulders bump with every deep breath, eyes riveted to the side of Woody’s face the way Woody’s are riveted to the stars.

“Mikester,” he finally manages, finding his friend’s hand and squeezing it, “you know you’re the best there is, don’t you?”

Mike’s smile only widens, bright and delighted, and outshining outer space as easy as breathing.

* * *

Woody is sixteen now, and college is a looming threat. The thought of going away for years and years leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, even though he spent so much of his earlier childhood eager for it.

Casey is taking college classes online. He works at a tiny restaurant on the main road and unofficially lives at the busy Hamato house. He’s never been happier since he refused to go home with his monster of a father two summers ago, since the day he realized he would never have to leave this town.

Woody wants that feeling, too.

The beach is silver in the moonlight. The sea pushes and pulls with impossible force. There’s a galaxy sitting on the surface of the water, cosmic soup that shakes apart when they move through it like two landlocked astronauts. 

Mike’s fingers are tangled with his as they walk back to meet the cruiser, and Woody thinks of the future.


End file.
